


Orchestrating

by DickBaggins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Come Sharing, M/M, Sastiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 00:10:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1760367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DickBaggins/pseuds/DickBaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is working way too hard at the piano, but Castiel knows how to relax him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orchestrating

Sam has to practice; he's got three days until his lecture-recital and he's nervous as shit, waking up with cold sweat nightmares of his fingers falling off, or the piano keys turning into liquid under his touch, and once, every time he tried to sit down the stool would collapse into little toothpicks and cascade out underneath him. For the most part, Castiel has been great about all this, knowing when to leave Sam alone to practice, when to bring him tea and cookies, and when to kiss him on the forehead and gently tell him to come to bed. But, it's been a few weeks of this and Cas has had enough. It's not that he's demanding of attention, not really, but he likes it, of course, and he thinks Sam could use the break too.

It's almost midnight when Castiel creeps into the study, stands at the door for a minute just to watch Sam bent over his desk, one pencil behind his ear and another between his fingers, frowning at a pile of papers and two open books, everything barely illuminated by Sam's laptop. Sam must know he's there, saying, “Do you want to hear it again?” without raising his gaze from the mess of research.

Cas smiles and crosses the carpet towards Sam's desk. “Of course,” he says, watching Sam push off and walk to the piano, barefoot, shirtless, just pajama pants hung indecently low on his hips. He looks tired and beautiful at the same time, sighing out a breath while he sits down on the bench and stretches his arms over his head for just a second, hard obliques popping out for long enough to be distracting. Cas waits until Sam settles down, fingers resting light over the keys, before he puts his plan into action. Sam's only a bar or two in and Cas walks over, stands behind Sam, rests his fingertips lightly on his shoulders, warm and flexing as Sam plays, and then he's beside Sam, delighting in watching those fingers dance along the keys for a second, only a second because they are fantastic and long and even the most mundane activities make Cas think filthy things about Sam's hands. So only a second and then Cas drops to his knees on the carpet, ignores Sam's questioning look, crawling under the piano, around Sam's splayed legs to settle between them, nuzzling at Sam through his thin pants.

The otherwise beautiful music above Cas skips and Cas chuckles against Sam, pressing his cheek harder against Sam's thigh and travelling up. Sam crashes to a disjointed halt and Cas blinks up at him, lips fighting not to curve into a smile. “Why did you stop?” He asks, head tilting all innocent, trying so hard not to crack even though he can feel Sam hardening under his cheek. “Just once through, come on, I want to hear it.”

“Cas, I can't if you're gonna – fuck – keep rubbing on my balls.”

Cas laughs again against said balls, opening his mouth wide around the soft fabric, still blinking up at Sam. He slides one hand up Sam's chest, feels the deep rumble-moan under his fingertips, letting the other hand join his mouth as it travels higher so he's got his mouth around the fabric-trapped impression of Sam's dick, loving the way it hardens up under him still, and his fingers curved around his balls. “Please? You need to practice and you're going to have to deal with distractions anyway.”

“Not like _this_ ,” Sam says, but dutifully, he starts up again a bar behind where he left off, frowning a little.

Cas smiles against Sam's dick, drawing it out of his pants and sinking his mouth back down around it, kissing up the shaft and back down, licking a trail back up with his tongue stuck out all flat and showy and Sam misses more than a few notes, completely hard underneath Cas's mouth. “Doing good,” Cas says, says it to Sam's dick mostly, eyes fixating on the first little drops of precome oozing out, barely dotting Sam's deep red head before Cas licks them up, moaning at the taste but it's lost in the music, becomes nothing but vibrations that he knows Sam feels, because his fingers stutter over the wrong keys again and his leg twitches, foot hitting the soft pedal and turning the music ethereal until Sam swears and shifts off of it.

Sam only manages to get halfway through the composition before he  _needs_ both hands, pulling off the keyboard in a flurry of half-struck notes and twisting his fingers around Cas's clumpy hair, holding his face still so he can fuck into it, all erratic rhythm. But there's a music in that too, somehow, in his loud honest moans, in Cas's deep wet noises around his dick, everything gloriously off beat when he wrenches Cas's head back and spills against his tongue in three big loads that follow no time signature at all, conform to no pattern but their own. 

Cas lets Sam pull him up by the hair, lets Sam kiss the fresh mess from his face and shove it back into his mouth, their tongues twisting together as their moans harmony into one perfect tune, completely and irrevocably in sync.

 


End file.
